I've always been the kind of man who never lacked attention. Handsome, confident, and well-versed in charm, I’ve never had a shortage of girlfriends. But you? You were different.

From the moment I stepped into your high-end women's garment shop, I knew you were different. You styled differently, you talked differently, and you were not easily swayed by my usual tactics. Poised, married, busty, curvy and irresistibly sexy with an air of untouchability, you were the kind of woman who only became more alluring because you seemed out of reach. You were sitting by yourself, your shapely legs crossed beneath your floral dress and a pair of tight stockings that clung to your curves like a second skin. I told you I was shopping for my girlfriend, but the way I lingered in our conversations, the way my eyes sought yours—it was clear I was more interested in you. You noticed, of course. You always notice, and that’s what makes you so hard to catch.

But that day, I brought my girlfriend. A beautiful woman too, and I made sure to display our affection right in front of you. I didn’t know what I expected, but when I caught that brief flicker in your eyes, something changed. You didn’t look happy. Was it jealousy? I wasn’t sure, but for the first time, I felt like maybe I’d broken through your carefully crafted walls. Maybe, just maybe, you cared.

Today, I was far from that little shop, in another city for business. I didn’t expect to see you, but there you were, in the middle of a crowded marketplace, inspecting fabrics with the same focus that first caught my eye. You were here on business too, importing garments, just like you always said you did.

A strange thrill coursed through me. This is neutral ground. No pretense, no familiar roles to play. As I approached you, I wondered—would you acknowledge the tension we both knew had been simmering beneath the surface? Or would you brush it off, as you always had, leaving me chasing after a woman who might never be caught?

“Fancy seeing you here,” I said, my voice casual, though my eyes searched yours for any trace of that unspoken connection.

You looked up from the fabric in your hands, your expression unreadable, but there was something there in your gaze, a flicker of recognition. “Small world,” you replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips.

And just like that, the air between us felt charged, thick with all the unspoken words. This city, this moment—it felt like an opportunity. Suddenly, anything seemed possible. I broke the tension with a grin. “Are you finished here? Let me take you to dinner. After all, it’s not every day you run into an old friend in a strange city.”

You smiled slightly, a little teasing, a little distant. “Who says we’re old friends? You’re just a customer in my store.”

“Customers are supposed to be gods, aren’t they? And no one can refuse a god,” I joked, and we fell into easy conversation as we walked through the early autumn streets. The wind was cool, the sky stretched endlessly above us, and it felt like the season had opened up our senses, making everything sharper, more intense.

Half an hour later, we sat across from each other in a restaurant. I ordered a bottle of red wine, and as we ate and drank, the atmosphere between us shifted. Your face flushed slightly from the wine, and the air grew warmer, more intimate.

“You’re such a flirt,” you said, teasing me, “even though you have a girlfriend.”

I smiled at you, taking a sip of wine. “Life is short. I used to be a good boy, you know? But when I saw my mother pass away, I realized how fleeting life really is. It changed me. I started seeing things differently, and now, I just want to chase the beauty I encounter.” I paused, my voice lowering. “And you—you’re beautiful. More than you know. But I can’t help wondering if, behind that distant smile of yours, there’s a restless heart, too. Tell me—are you truly happy in your marriage?”

You gave me a sad, quiet smile. It said more than words ever could.

Before long, we found ourselves in a hotel room. The door closed behind us, and without a second thought, we were reaching for each other, eager, reckless, fulfilling a need that neither of us could ignore any longer.

Our lips met, hesitant for only a heartbeat before the intensity took over. Your hands tangled in my hair, my arms wrapped around your waist, roaming up and down. It was as if the months of lingering glances and casual flirtation had all led to this. The kiss deepened, the hunger in it undeniable. 

Your fingers tugged at my shirt, pulling it free from my trousers, and I responded in kind, my hands slipping under your blouse, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath. I reached to your back and unclamped your bra. The moment your twin globes jumped free, my eyes widened with excitement as if a little boy opened his Christmas gift. “My Gosh!” I whispered. They were big, perfectly round, whiter than the moon, with the perfect perky, pink, glowy nipples. I cupped them in my hands, rolling, kneading, and fondling. I had to take one nipple in my mouth. I sucked and licked, switching back and forth between the twin pink cherries. Your breath was coming faster now, shallow and uneven, and I could feel your heart racing under my palm.

"Oh, don’t stop," you murmured, holding my head still resting against your amazing breasts. I needed to hear it from you, as every part of me was desperate to keep going.

Our lips met again, more fervently this time, and the world outside ceased to exist. My hands roamed, pulling you even closer as I slid your blouse from your shoulders, the fabric falling to the floor with a soft rustle. Your skin was warm against mine, and every touch felt electrified, like we were both riding the edge of something unstoppable.

We stumbled toward the bed, our movements hasty, our hands exploring every inch of each other. The dim light of the hotel room casted shadows across your skin, making everything feel more intimate, more urgent. You pushed me back onto the bed, and I pulled you down with me, our bodies pressed together as though the distance between us was too much to bear.

Your lips traced a path along my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I could feel your richest softness cushioning my firm chest, your heart pounding against mine, every beat matching the intensity of the moment. It wasn’t just lust, though that was certainly part of it—it was the release of months, maybe even years, of suppressed feelings, of wanting something we both knew was forbidden.

I rolled us over, pinning you beneath me, and the look in your eyes was all the confirmation I needed. There was no more holding back, no more pretending. I kissed you deeply, my hands sliding down your sides, feeling the softness of your skin, the femininity of your curves, the way your body responded to mine. You gasped as I circled my lips around your areola, and I couldn’t help but gasp at the way your body trembled under my touch.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of our heavy breathing, the rustling of sheets as we moved against each other. Time seemed to blur, and all that mattered was the here and now, the feeling of being completely lost in one another. The taste of your skin, the way your nails dug into my back—it was intoxicating, overwhelming.

As we reached the point of no return, I paused for a second, my forehead resting against yours. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.”

Your response was a soft moan, your arms wrapping around me tighter, pulling me in. And then, everything else faded—there was only you, only us, thrusting and moaning in that moment.

Later, as we lay tangled in the sheets, our bodies spent and our breathing finally slowing, the weight of what had just happened began to settle in. I propped myself up on one elbow, looking down at you. Your hair was tousled, your face flushed, and for the first time in a long while, you looked completely at ease. Vulnerable, but not in a way that made you seem fragile. No, this was something else—a kind of unspoken understanding between us.

“Do you regret it?” I asked quietly, my hand gently brushing a stray strand of your hair. 

“No,” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “Maybe I should. Or I may regret it in the future. But, at this moment, I don’t regret it.”

Neither was I. We had crossed a line—one that was impossible to uncross. But lying here with you, feeling your warmth and the soft rhythm of your breath, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it. The desire I’d kept buried for so long had finally found its release.